


The Sand with Time...

by mythomagicallydelicious



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Ford gets drunk, Ford says a lot of things, Gen, Stan hears all of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 22:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11746458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythomagicallydelicious/pseuds/mythomagicallydelicious
Summary: Ford has just been pulled back from the portal a couple nights ago, and despite the huge amount of work ahead of him, he decides to take one night and celebrate being in his home dimension. Unfortunately for Ford, he didn't know how strong Cosmic Sand gets with time, or what the night had in store for him after he drank it.





	The Sand with Time...

Maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe he shouldn’t have let his guard down. Maybe he should have thrown out that cosmic sand years ago.

But he didn’t. Ford decided one night of celebration was what he deserved, and he was going to do it. He (thought he) knew how much he could handle. But he didn’t know how strong cosmic sand gets with time. And even the little he drank was enough to make him drunk out of his mind.

The man suddenly went from cautious, uptight, and serious to having the first joyed smile since he arrived on Earth. He began to laugh at how _great_ it felt to be back in 46’\\. He laughed so hard he fell over, still giggling. He lay like that for a while, until his laughter petered out and he began to think instead.

_How did I get here?_ He wondered. And his memories jumbled around before his face.

Soaring through the nightmare realm and into the glowing blue light, stepping out into the dark basement. His own face with tears he hadn’t cried in ages, and a smile he hadn’t worn in years reflected back at him.

Punching both of those expressions of love and joy off his face. Ford felt his jaw, looking for the bruise, confused when he felt no pain.

_Where is it?_ He asked himself. In his mind he saw himself feel his jaw, yelling “Ow!”

Ford froze, and mentally counted the fingers in his memory. _One…two…three…four…five…five?—FIVE!_

Ford sat up straight and yelled “FIVE!” out loud. When the room stopped spinning he scrambled into a standing position and spent two minutes grabbing for the doorknob of his room, all the while mumbling “five” under his breath.

He finally opened the door and stumbled into the hallway, mumbling “five” and “ow” to himself, practically crawling up the stairs until he got to the door he was looking for.

He knocked like his life depended on it, in his mind. In reality, it wasn’t very hard—the drink made him think he was being louder than he was.

When the door opened he saw his face again, looking sour and guarded.

“What do you want?” he heard, and for a moment Ford was confused until he remembered why he came.

“FIVE!” Ford shouted, reaching out for the hand in front of him. Stan dodged, and Ford fell flat on the floor. He rocked right and left until he had enough momentum to roll himself over and sit up.

Stan was staring down at him, at a complete loss for words. Ford stared up at Stan, feeling tears prick in his eyes as he repeated himself again. “Five…you’re five. You—you’re, I…you’re _five_ ,” Ford said, reaching forward for Stan’s hand again.

This time Stan didn’t even move. He let Ford grab his hand and pull himself up by it, so they were face to face once more. Ford’s mind was a whirlwind of memories and regret.

(Last time he had cosmic sand it was in celebration, nothing could drag him down. This time, however, he felt all the confusion, fear, and sorrow he’d repressed at all other times, especially those related to his brother, and these feelings were controlling him now).

He touched his own jaw where he’d punched on Stanley and apologized. “You—you’re five and I just. I just _punched_ you. I’m so sorry, Five. You, you’re, I can’t believe I did that. You don’t—you don’t—you’re my Five. I punched my _Five_.” Ford put his head into Stan’s shoulder and cried.

Stanley was completely frozen in shock. Something was wrong with Ford, that much he was certain of. _Why’d he keep calling him Five?_

But…he was also apologizing. And Ford holding his hand and crying into his shoulder is the closest he’s been to his brother in forty years. Stan decided to see this out, and figure out how to fix Ford later. He may never get this chance again.

Ford felt a hand reach up and pat his back, the other rifling through his hair. Ford leaned back, a bit of snot trailing from his nose, tear tracks on his face, and smiled at his brother.

“Five, you—you’re my brother. I’m your brother. We, we’re brothers and I, and I, and I—“Ford touched his own jaw again and winced. “Five, I’m so sorry.” Ford’s voice broke on “sorry” and he began tearing up into Stan’s shoulder again.

“Hot Belgium waffles, Sixer, what’d you do?” Stan asked, rubbing Ford’s back again.

Ford shuddered at the question and pulled closer to Stan.

“I did…I did everything wrong, Five. I’m so sorry. You. I left you, Five. I hurt—hurt—hurt you, Five. I, augh, I’m so sorry.”

Stan was almost uncomfortable with how much Ford was apologizing. He shifted Ford so he wasn’t speaking into his shoulder while talking and caught a whiff of Ford’s breath as he did so.

“Oh my mini-golf, Sixer, you got _drunk? With the kids here? **What were you thinking?**_ ”

Stan pushed Ford back to look in his eyes. Ford almost lost balance at the sudden motion but caught himself with Stan’s hand, holding it tight.

“I’m not drunk, Five. I only had a little sand. Noth—nothing I can’t handle.”

Stan rolled his eyes, not even going to point out how much Ford was swaying where he stood, the slurry language, or only being able to call Stan “Five” instead of his name.

“Alright, Sixer, why don’t we—hey, why’re you laughing?”

Ford had started giggling when Stan called him “Sixer.”

“C’mon, Poindexter, let’s get you out of here before you say or do anything else you’ll regret.”

Stan slowly started guiding Ford out of his room and down the hall. It was slow progress, because part way there Ford started singing “I jumped through the blue, and then I saw me. I mean you,” and laughing so hard he started to lose balance again.

Stan didn’t want to straight carry Ford (he wasn’t that young anymore) and Ford was using all of his weight to flop around. _It’s a miracle Mabel and Dipper haven’t woken up to this racket yet_ , he thought to himself.

“Come on, Stanford, help me out here—who am I kidding? You’ve never helped me when you’re sober. You wouldn’t help me drunk out of your mind, either.” Stan tugs Ford onward and finally makes it into his brother’s room. He tries tugging him one last bit to the couch, but Ford stopped in place and tugged Stan back to face him instead.

“Stanley,” he said, staring at his face. “Stanley. Thank you for bringing me home. I got to see the tree again. And our face. I haven’t seen our face in _years_. Thank you, Stanley. I love you.” And then Ford jumped forward and hugged Stan.

Stan stumbled back but caught Ford. He felt his eyes tear up and pour over as his brother held him tightly. As they were holding on, Ford’s grip slackened and his body grew heavier. Stan couldn’t believe it. _Ford had fallen asleep hugging him_. Stan glanced around the ‘secret room’ the kids had uncovered earlier this summer. Seeing the only good option, Stan slowly backed up and flopped down on the couch, bringing Ford’s solid frame with him.

Ford doesn’t let go of him. And when Stan tries to unhook his brother’s arms from around him he feels Ford tighten his grip in his sleep. Stan sighs, but nobody is around to fool, so it is a happy sigh, not exasperation, that leaves him. He bunches up the pillow on the wall behind his head and, despite the pain his back will have in the morning, he settles into sleep for the night. “I love you too, Stanford. My brother.”

\--

In the morning Ford woke up first, an ungodly crick in his neck, and an ungodly snoring reverberating through his ears. He opened his eyes to see he was leaning into his brother, arms wrapped around his shoulders and locked together there. Both arms and hands were completely asleep.

Ford tried jumping up, but his legs were tangled half in a blanket, half around Stan’s and he ended up clunking to the floor instead. The sound woke Stan up, and by the time Stan had stretched his arms and opened his eyes, Ford had jumped to his feet and tried discreetly shaking out his arms.

“What in Newton’s name are you doing here, Stanley?”

Stanley stood up, taking his time, his joints creaking and popping as he looked Ford in the eye. “Dragging your weepy butt back to your room, actually.”

Ford was not expecting that. “What?”

Stan popped his neck and rolled his shoulders back, feeling his back twinge sharply. “Last night you got trashed on “sand” as you called it, stumble stepped your way to my room, call me nothing but “Five”, cry about hitting yourself in the jaw, and then giggle over a song you made up. I can sing it for ya, if you want.”

Ford had blanched at the word “sand” and felt mounting horror at all Stanley had told him. But that didn’t answer his question. “How did you end up _here_ , though?” Ford reiterated.

“Well, I was dragging you back to your room before you did or said anything else, but at the door you stopped and…” Stan looked away for a moment, scratching the back of his neck, “well, ya said some things. And then you tackled me into a hug. Then you fell asleep, while hugging me. I stepped back until I felt the couch behind me and settled in. When I tried to pry your hands off, your grip got tighter. That’s a hell of an instinct to fight. Almost couldn’t breathe so I just decided to suck it up and settle in for the night. Oh, and by the way, you’re welcome, Sixer.”

Ford felt confusion and dread rush through him. Apparently his small store of cosmic sand was stronger than he’d thought. While Ford was processing all of this, Stan walked out, mumbling Ford’s song under his breath.

Hearing just the edge of the song brought last night back to Ford.

_All of it_.

He groaned and sat down, his numb arms swinging and tried not to die of embarrassment when he heard Stan call back one last time. “And brush your teeth—your breath could knock out a bear!”

\--

Ford knows what he said to Stan last night. Stan knows what Ford said to Stan last night. But Stan is still letting him set the terms of their relationship…Ford’s head was starting to hurt from all of the considerations in the twisted frame of last night.

He had a _long_ day ahead of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Unexpected side effects of drinking cosmic sand: calling your brother by the number of his fingers all night, alternately laughing and crying about said brother, confusing your twin's face for yours and then confusingly referring to his face as yours in conversation, and more! Ford tried re-creating the celebration of purpose he'd had after Jheselbraum cured him and set him up for his mission to destroy Bill Cipher. He wanted just a taste of that at being in his home dimension again. Instead, this time the (much stronger) sand forced him to think about all the regret and sadness he keeps out of his head at all other times. 
> 
> Not what he was going into the night for.


End file.
